Page 13 of The Lyon Whisperer
“I see,” Lady Harriet said, looking impressed with this bit of information. “Be that as it may, I have a few suggestions that you may wish to make use of prior to agreeing to your betrothal.”
Amelia sighed. “That’s just it. I have no say in the matter. Father insists the marriage will take place. He’s threatened to ship me off to a convent should I attempt to refuse.” She shook her head sadly. “Not that I considered doing so. No matter how hard I try, I can never please the earl. I try to be an obedient daughter, I do. But time and again, my heart rules my head and I end up doing something or saying something that embarrasses or disappoints him or both.” She broke off, her chin trembling as she fought back the tears that threatened. “It doesn’t matter. I said I’d marry the man and marry him I shall.”
Her friends said not a word, but their compassion-filled eyes spoke volumes.
Finally, Margaret reached over and squeezed Amelia’s hand. The small kindness proved too much for her control and several fat tears coursed down her cheeks. “Lord Culver can not possibly know of your decision, darling Amelia. Listen to what Harriet has to say.”
As the tallclock in his den chimed twelve, Chase closed his accounts journal and leaned back in his chair, cleaning the nib of his pen with the soft cloth he kept on hand. He rolled his shoulders, stiff from pouring over the books.
He’d done what he could for tonight. Best to head to bed now and make an early start of it.
He set the quill in its stand and pushed up from the massive desk, contemplating the credenza housing the brandy carafe. Why not? He poured himself a couple fingers of the aromatic liquor.
When the Crown had bestowed the barony on him a year ago, he’d been gratified by the gesture. He’d had no notion how neglected the small estate had been under the previous, late Baron of Sidford. Luckily he’d had previous experience digging an estate from the mire of mismanagement.
Snifter in hand, he sauntered to the sofa and dropped into a half sprawl, stretching out his legs. Using his free hand, he untied his cravat and tugged it off, then undid the top buttons of his shirt.
He drew the snifter to his lips and sipped. The liquor melted over his tongue and slid down his throat like silk. He didn’t imbibe often or overly as a rule, but if he bothered, he bothered with the best. It was one of his rules.
A scratch sounded at the closed door.
Eyes gritty with fatigue, he closed them briefly in mute frustration. “Come.”
His butler, Harold, poked his dark head inside. “I beg your pardon, m’lord, but there’s a lady here to see you, by the name of Lady MacIvor. She claims the matter is urgent.”
Chase did not know any Lady MacIvor, though the name was vaguely familiar. What urgent matter could an unknown caller have with him, especially after midnight?
He contemplated telling Harold to toss her out. No respectable lady would show up unannounced at this time of night. Alas, the soldier-turned-butler’s lack of experience meant Chase would have to instruct him on how to accomplish such a feat.
Easier to manage the business on his own. “Show her in.” He rose and moved back to sit behind his desk.
A moment later, Harold opened the door and ushered the woman inside. Slight and of average height, she wore a dark pelisse and black cap with a net that covered her face.
The woman turned toward Harold before he departed. “Thank you, sir…”
Chase got to his feet. He knew that voice. Husky and slightly breathy, it had haunted his dreams of late. Even now it sent a thrill over his skin and caused his stomach to clench. With an effort of will, he forced himself to absorb her actual words while batting back his body’s unwitting reaction to her tone.
“…and I apologize again for pulling you from your slumber.”
Harold, the war hardened veteran Chase had hired to replace his recently retired butler, sentLady MacIvora broad smile. “Please, milady, it was my pleasure to serve you.” He shifted to face Chase, like a soldier snapping to attention. “Milord, may I assist you in any way? Shall I have a tea prepared?”
Chase resisted the urge to eye the plaster ceiling. He reminded himself he knew when he employed the man he wasn’t getting a seasoned butler. “No, Harold, that will be all. Goodnight,” he added when the man made no move to quit the room.
He bobbed his head and, with evident reluctance, closed the door, leaving Chase and the lady alone.
His fatigue vanished as a simmering awareness of the woman stirred all his senses to high alert. So much for his theory that the first time had been an anomaly.
He rounded his desk to approach her. “Lady Duval, I presume?”
She uttered a small sound of surprise and untied the ribbon under her chin. “How on earth did you know?” she asked, pulling the cap from her head.
He took the cap and gestured for her to turn so that he might help her out of her pelisse. Her scent, a combination of the brisk night air and something floral and fresh, wafted up at him. Another shock of awareness swept through him.
“Shocking, indeed, when any number of ladies of my acquaintance might call on me at this hour.”
She appeared not to notice his intentional sarcasm. “Indeed?”
“No,” he replied. “I apologize that my butler did not divest you of these.” He indicated the cap and outer garment he held.
